Even Monsters Are Men Sometimes
by whynotitsfun
Summary: Takes place towards the end of the raid on the training camp in episode 2x17. My way of ignoring that the writers are turning Monroe back into Season 1 Monroe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** **I have been annoyed at the way the writers have turned Monroe back into the Monroe of season 1. He was so much more fun and interesting when he was allowed to be more human, rather than just a psycho. So here is my attempt to humanize him after episode 2 x 17. And I added a smattering of Charloe at the end because although my hope for it on the show has died, I still love me some Charloe! Maybe now that I've gotten this out of my head, I'll be able to pick up the other story I've been working on. Not marking this complete as of yet because I may add to it to make further episodes fit into my lala land later.**

He holds the pistol in both hands, pointed towards the ground, yet still at ready. Carefully he stalks through the camp, checking each body. His movements are almost catlike as he steps over one corpse, moving on to the next. This one is still alive, but won't be for long. A jagged slash extends from one side of his abdomen to the other; if he doesn't bleed out, his death will be slow and painful as his organs shut down. The gun goes off and the Patriot is no more. Both mercy and vengeance in the same bullet.

He swallows deeply to force back the bile that rises with every shot he takes. He grits his teeth in determination. He will not show emotion here. Not in front of the men. They would see it as a sign of weakness, and he needs them to continue to see him as ruthless. That is what they respect; what they will follow. If they see the humanity poking through, he may lose them and with that, any chance of winning.

He hovers over the last fallen Patriot. The man's wounds are not fatal and he begs for his life. Briefly, he considers sparing this man. But the last time a Patriot was shown mercy, it was used against them. If this man lives, he will tell Truman all he has seen: their numbers, who leads them. He may even follow them back to their camp. That is too great a risk. He fights the urge to gag as he pulls the trigger one last time.

Looking up, he sees his son staring at him. He can't quite identify the expression he sees. Horror? Revulsion? Between the Patriot's pleas and the look on his kids face, it's all he can do not to vomit where he stands. Instead he turns away and walks towards the clansmen gathering on the other side of the training camp.

Later, back at their current safe house, the clansmen celebrate their victory loudly. Morale is high, which is vital to them after the defeat the clan experienced outside of New Vegas and the loss of their previous leader. He sits apart from his new followers. He holds a bottle of some unidentified liquor. He prefers whiskey, but he'll take what he can get. The bottle of whatever the hell he's drinking was full not long ago. He's been determined that it would not stay that way.

To the outside observer he is the dignified leader, celebrating quietly to distinguish himself from the fighting masses he leads. Joining in their mirth would not help to keep his authority over them. But, internally, he's just trying to come to terms with everything he has done. The raid on the camp was a necessary evil. The longer it stayed open the more children they would have to kill later. Despite what Rachel and Gene think, he is not immune to the fact that most of the cadets they've slaughtered wouldn't even be able to vote if the power was still on. Some wouldn't even have been able to drive.

So, he drinks to dull his mind; to try to block out the wounded Patriots he'd killed after the battle had ended. He knows the Mathesons and his son judge him. He doesn't understand how they can demand mercy for those that have shown none. Did the Patriots show mercy when they hired the Andover Clan to shoot up Willoughby or when they infected the town with typhus? Where was their mercy when they attached Duncan's clan unprovoked, blowing Duncan's face off?

Sure, she'd have let him rot in the dirt after dying in that dogfight in New Vegas, but he understood. She was a warlord. Her position was based on the loyalty of her men and her willingness to put the clan first. Despite that, he'd still cared. She'd been the closest thing to a "girlfriend" he'd had since Shelly had died all those years ago. He hadn't been in love by any means. He hadn't even been faithful (and he was sure the same could have been said on both counts for Duncan). But, she was the closest he'd let someone for a very long time. So tonight he'd killed them for her; killed them for the dozens of clansmen that had died along with her. Their only crime had been to build something out of the nothingness the U.S. Government had left behind.

He locks eyes on his son. He hands the bottle to him as the younger Monroe approaches. He has to admit that he's proud. The kid fought well and had his back. He pats Connor's cheek in fatherly affection, showing his approval. He has to stuff his own self-loathing deep inside. He can't bear to let Connor see what these battles do to him. All of this he is doing for his son. If it's a republic the boy wants, then it's a republic he shall have. Connor doesn't need to see the real cost.

Much later he sits on the catwalk that haphazardly still stands above their camp. The chain link fencing that once kept workers from falling off has been torn away in several sections. He sits with his legs dangling over, his arms resting on one of the bars that once held the chain link. He should be taking advantage of having more men to take watch and try to sleep. It seems the others are. As much as the Mathesons have condemned him for his new little army, they sure seem to be enjoying the much needed rest. His bottle has been long abandoned for empty. Not that he needed another drink. The glow of the booze still buzzes around him. But despite the fact that he is thoroughly drunk, he still can't block out any of it.

His eyes brim, his stomach churns. But, the tears won't fall and his stomach has refused to empty. He doesn't even hear Charlie approach until she's almost upon him. Maybe she's sneaking up on him, or maybe he's just that drunk. He doesn't care enough to analyze it further.

"Look at you, all proud of your little army." Her voice is cold, full of hatred. She leans up against the railing behind him. If she really wants to, she could just push him off his perch and put him out of his misery. The bar he's rested his arms on is rickety at best and would do little to prevent him from going over. It occurs to him that as drunk as he is, she wouldn't even have to take the heat for it. Everyone had seen him polish off his bottle and stumble his way up here before they turned in for the night. It wouldn't be much of a stretch to think he'd just slipped off. He thinks for a split second about moving before she takes the opportunity, but in the end he doesn't care enough to do so.

"Did you want something?" He slurs wearily. He's not in the mood for her condemnation right now.

"How could you celebrate after killing those men in cold blood?" She asks. "I would have thought that even you weren't that sick."

He rests his head on his arms. Hidden under his elbows, his hands grip the bar, as if for dear life. If he could see them, he could be sure his knuckles were white. "It's war, Charlie. It's not cold blooded to shoot someone that's trying to kill you. You knew we had to hit that training camp as well as I did."

Charlie crosses over to his side of the catwalk, standing above him. She leans up against the fencing that ends a few feet to his right. "You know what I'm talking about. The wounded. You just killed them like they were nothing."

He looks up at her now, his eyes boring into hers. "You- You think I enjoyed it? That I liked having to kill them?" She only nods in response. He visibly flinches at her silent affirmative. "Then you still don't know me at all." He looks back down on the camp, but does not turn his head fast enough to conceal the lone tear that run downs his face. Her accusation has stung, for reasons he can't begin to explain. He quickly wipes it away, hoping she hasn't noticed in the darkness.

But, the light from the campfire below reflects off of it, making it and the wetness still in his eyes more obvious. "More crocodile tears, Monroe?"

Despite his inebriated state, he jumps up to confront her. The speed of his movements has startled her. "I did what had to be done. Most of them were dying anyway."

Charlie backs away from him. She can tell he's plowed and in her experience, drunken men are unpredictable. Being a little on the crazy side, he is more so. "What about that last one? I'd already seen him. He would have lived."

A few more tears find their way out of his eyes as he steps towards her, stalking her. "I didn't want to kill him. I didn't have a choice. If I'd have let him live we wouldn't even last the night. He'd have followed us and led every Patriot in Texas straight for us."

Charlie has her back pressed up against the railing now, with no place left to go. He is standing so close she has to crane her neck up to maintain eye contact. "There's always a choice. And you always make the one that leaves the most bodies behind. You're a killer, Monroe. And that's all you'll ever be."

This is not the first time she's said this to him. And it won't certainly be the last. Normally, his reaction would be to laugh her off, throw an insult or two back and do his best to intimidate the hell out of her. But this is not a normal night. He's raw and drunk and he's been living off of too little sleep and too much adrenaline since he'd been pulled out of New Vegas by those bounty hunters a few months ago. "You're right," He says sadly. "I am a killer, and I can't change. Doesn't mean that I have to like it. It wasn't supposed to be like this."

He watches Charlie closely as she considers his words. He can tell she doesn't believe him, or at least she's put a concentrated effort into not believing. "Sorry, but I'm not buying it."

"I don't expect you to. One of us has to be the bad guy here Charlie," He takes one last step, and they are now toe to toe.

"If that's what helps you sleep at night, Monroe." She says, refusing to back down.

A chuckle escapes him at that. "Would we be standing here right now if I could? If we're going to survive this, someone has to be able to kill without thinking about it. Better me than you or Miles."

"If you seriously think any of us are going to live through this, it proves how deluded you really are." Her chosen words are cruel, but the venom in her tone has slowly ebbed to nothing.

Unable to help himself, he brushes a knuckle gently down her cheek. "Your family will survive, if I have to kill every Patriot to ensure it."

She stills at his touch, but she surprises him by not shoving him away. "I thought the whole reason you were here was to get your republic back."

Emboldened by her acquiescence and the alcohol, he lowers his head until their foreheads touch. He rests his hands on either side of her on the railing. "Can't I have more than one reason to fight?" The tears in his eyes have dried, but the evidence is still there, no matter how much she chooses to ignore it.

"No, not you. All you want is to rule the world again." She is trying so hard, but even he can see her resolve is weakening.

"Not me. It was never for me. Before it was for Miles, now it's for Connor. I'll bring it back, but I won't rule it. I don't want it," he whispers. He's starting to feel dizzy. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's her. He can't quite decide. Her hands are balled up between them, resting on his chest, but she still hasn't pushed at him. The closeness sends a shudder through him.

Charlie hesitates before she responds. "If you don't want to rule again, then what do you want?"

He sighs. "For having two geniuses as parents, you can be awfully dense at times, Charlie." The words come out right before he lowers his lips to hers. He kisses her slowly, giving her a chance to refuse him. In the back of his mind he knows this is all a bad idea. But he also knows this will be his only chance to touch her, so he'd decided to make it count. When Charlie opens her fists and lays her hands flat on his chest, he takes the cue. Wrapping his arms around her, he plunges in. He tastes her and explores her mouth thoroughly. Her hands slide up and she throws them around his neck, one hand tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

He loses track of time as they cling to one another. She arches her back to offer herself to his hand as it seeks her breast beneath her open jacket. The whimpering moan she offers is what slowly brings him back to reality. This stolen moment in time is passing, and he knows it's time to let her go. His hand leaves her breast as he wraps the arm around her again, holding her in one last embrace as he slowly retreats from her. He places one last gentle peck on her lips before he pulls back. The passion in her eyes is almost his undoing. He holds her tightly, kissing her temple for a moment before he untangles her hands from his neck and steps completely away.

As they stare at each other, her eyes clear. Passion is replaced with confusion. He wonders if she's confused at what has happened, or by why it has stopped. If he could read her mind, he would realize it is both. He slowly backs away from her until his back hits the railing. The confusion in her eyes is replaced with a look of utter terror, and she looks like she's about to call out, before she suddenly looks relieved. It takes him a few seconds to realize that if he'd stepped back just a foot to his left he'd have backed up into one of the few spots where the entire rails had collapsed, leaving not even the steel bars to keep him from stepping backwards.

Charlie lets out a light laugh, obviously coming to the conclusion that he's been affected by what they've shared as much as she has. He is suddenly grateful his back is to the campfire below, effectively concealing in the shadows the fact that he's blushing. He runs a hand through his hair, as he tries to clear his head. Without a word, he watches her make her way down the catwalk to the stairs that lead to the rest of camp. She turns one last time to look at him, and they share one last look of longing before she disappears below. He resumes his earlier position, and watches over her as he sleeps, only joining the others as the sun begins to rise.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This isn't a continuation of the first chapter. That is to say, it is more of a companion piece. The original idea was to correct the dickish behavior that Monroe's character has started to display since the show came back from its first hiatus of the season. I'll admit it, redeemable Bass was a lot more awesome to me than psycho killer Bass (as I'm sure many of you will agree). So, take this as another attempt to correct this, but it is not a continuation of the actual events in the first chapter. At this start of this, the interactions between Monroe and Charlie in chapter 1 have not taken place. This picks up directly after Tomorrowland. After we heard it was cancelled, I decided that since the show would never get a chance to let Monroe redeem himself that I would give him that chance. There are more notes to explain a few things at the end. WARNING: SEVERAL MCD'S TOWARDS THE END. **

Charlie and Miles had not yet commented on the fact that only one of the Monroes had returned. He'd helped them with the disaster that had come out of their little train heist. If he hadn't shown up at the last second to tell them the canisters had been rigged to go off as soon as the boxcar was opened, they'd have all been killed, along with the entire town. How Monroe had learned of this and why he'd not allowed this to happen was anyone's guess.

Only a few weeks had passed since Monroe and Connor had left camp after that final argument between Miles and his former best friend. In the few days that he'd been back, Monroe had not discussed with either of them where he'd been and why Connor was not with him now. In fact, he hadn't said much of anything. He'd been keeping to himself for the most part and camped alone. He didn't go far, but neither did he ever step foot near the trailer that served as their current safe house.

Miles was torn. Rachel was obviously less than happy that Monroe had come back. Any attempts to reach out to him now would seem like a betrayal in her eyes. But as each day passed, it was clear to both Miles and Charlie that something was more wrong than normal with the man.

Miles had meant what he'd said the night Monroe had taken off. Whether Monroe wanted to acknowledge it or not, there were still people that cared about his sorry hide, but all he'd succeeded in doing these last months was push them further away. Their little family was the textbook definition of dysfunctional, but good or bad Monroe was still a part of it. Rachel would always deny it, but even on some level she cared about him as well.

The relationships that Monroe had with Miles and Rachel were too complicated to be worked out with so many other things hanging in the balance, but at some point if he could just tone down the brutality, Miles hadn't thought it was completely hopeless. Despite Miles' initial protests when Charlie had brought him to Willoughby, Miles had gotten used to having him around. He'd constantly told Rachel that they needed him, but the fact was he'd kept close tabs on Monroe because he had convinced himself that if he could just keep him near, maybe he'd slowly turn back into the man that had been his friend and brother all those years.

Either way, there were too many bad memories for things to just heal overnight, but there were too many good memories for them to just write him off. The past ten years of madness couldn't erase the other thirty years of brotherhood, no matter how much Rachel willed it to be so.

Ironically enough, Miles understood how Monroe felt about Rachel. Almost fifteen years ago he'd said the same things about Shelly that Monroe had constantly been saying about Rachel (although Miles felt he'd been a little less caustic about it). Back then, he'd told Monroe over and over again that listening to Shelly about raiding the other camps would only leave them to starve. They had to do what was necessary to survive, even if it meant stealing food and guns. He'd wanted Monroe to think more like a marine, not the pacifist schmuck she'd turned him into. He'd even told Monroe once that shelly was trying to drive them apart and was clouding his judgment.

Back then it had been Miles that wanted to take matters into his own hands, consequences be damned. He'd know at the time that if the raid was the success that it could very well mean their neighbors wouldn't make it through the winter. They'd be unprotected without their guns and wouldn't be able to hunt to replace the food and cattle he'd intended on taking. But without Monroe's backing him, none of the others in their camp would have gone along with it. They'd looked up to him. He'd always seemed to me the more likeable and rational of the two.

So yeah, they'd been in each other's shoes. The only difference was Miles could now see how wrong he'd been and he recognized the role reversal. Monroe on the other hand refused to even think about it. It was like he'd taken the past, locked it up and had thrown away the key. Miles had hoped that Connor's presence in their lives would have changed this, but it only seemed to make it worse. He'd gone from appearing to want to make amends to slowly turning back into the man that Miles had tried to kill that night in Philly.

Charlie came up behind Miles and joined him from where he watched Monroe at a distance. Her presence brought him back to reality for the moment. "What's eating him," she asked casually as she sat down next to Miles.

Miles sighed deeply. "Who knows?"

Charlie cocked her head to the side as she watched the former general for several minutes. "Hmm.. Only one way to find out." She started to get up, intending on approaching Monroe herself.

Miles jumped up and grabbed her arm to stop her. "Leave it Charlie. You don't need to get involved. He'll snap out of it when he's damn good and ready."

Charlie tried to jerk out of Miles' grasp. "And if he doesn't, he's a liability, not an asset."

"Fine, I'll go talk to him. Just go inside and give us a minute." He knew if he didn't get this over with, she'd only take matters into her own hands. Charlie gave him a doubtful look. "I'm not talking to him with you hovering over us. It's too weird."

Charlie stared Miles down for a few seconds before she relented. "Okay," she said before heading back towards the trailer. Miles waited for her to disappear before he started heading to Monroe's camp. He sat down a few feet away from Monroe, hesitating for a few minutes as he tried to decide what to say. "I always said you'd learn to keep your mouth shut when hell froze over. Guess it must be snowing in Bagdad."

Monroe spared him an annoyed sidelong glance before he turned his attention back to the flames. _Okay_, Miles thought to himself. He racked his brain, trying to come up with a different approach. "So, you gonna tell me what happened?"

Silence reigned for several more minutes. Miles decided that this was pointless and started to rise. Monroe's voice stopped him. "We ran into Tom Neville the day after we left. We went back to the plant to get the weapon stash and he was waiting for us."

Miles had a feeling he knew where this was headed. Not that he cared one way or another what happened to Neville. "So you finally killed him then?"

"No."

The simple answer shocked Miles. "Okay, got to admit, you got me there."

Monroe held his hands out towards the fire to warm his fingers. This winter was starting out unusually cold for Texas. "He wanted us to work together to take out the patriots. Apparently they killed Julia and he's a tad pissed."

Miles watched him carefully as he spoke. The lack of inflection in his voice did little to reassure him of Monroe's stability. "So what, you two have a lovers spat or something?"

Monroe rolled his eyes at Miles' choice of words. "He wanted me to do something that even I found repulsive."

Considering Monroe had been ready to release mustard gas in Willoughby just to take out a squad or two, Miles found that hard to believe. "And what could have been so bad that you of all people had a problem with it?"

Monroe flinched at what Miles was implying – that he had no morals or standards left whatsoever. This was a low blow coming from a supposed friend, no matter what their history. "This Davis asshole that is claiming to be president is on his way to Willoughby. He'll be here in a few days. Word is that he's on some kind of political campaign. He's putting on quite the show. Even bringing his family."

"What, so he wants you to take them out before they get here? Sounds like something you'd do." Miles still didn't quite get what Monroe's problem would be with a plan like that.

"Not exactly. This Davis guy has a granddaughter," he began.

"Planning on seducing a spy of your own now?"

Monroe gave him a disgusted look. "She's like seven. He wanted to kidnap her to lure Davis away from his little security detail. Collateral damage is one thing, Miles. So is killing brainwashed soldiers. But I don't hurt little kids."

Miles was curious. Since when did he take orders from Neville? And why the hell had the kid not come back with him? "Okay, so it was a shitty plan. You could have just come up with something better."

"That's not exactly it. I told him there was no way in hell we were going through with that. And then he started saying shit. Said he'd decided to work with me rather than keep trying to kill me because he knew I'd do what it takes to wind." His voice started to crack. "I know. Sounds familiar right? And it just kind of hit me."

"What did?"

Monroe drug a hand over his face as he tried to think of the best way to explain it. "I can pretty much put Tom at the top of my list of things I hate most in this world. And after all these years I just realized. I'm just like him. Everything that was coming out of the bastard's mouth was the same shit I'd just said to you a few weeks ago; almost word for word."

Miles was at a loss. Monroe had finally seen how everyone else saw him. He'd given up a long time ago on that ever happening. "Bass-"

Monroe cut him off. "I've become what I hate most in this world, and I don't even know how it happened. And what's worse is that Connor is just like me." A stray tear fell down his face. Monroe dashed it away quickly with the back of his hand.

"Where is he, by the way?"

"Where else? With Tom. You were right all along. What we were planning on doing after the patriots went down was going to be a complete disaster. Apparently he decided that if I wasn't going to hand him a nation, he had no use for me. I guess he though this odds were better with Neville. I have a feeling that if we all survive this that they will try to take it back together."

Miles could not quite block out the sound of devastation in Monroe's voice. "So why did you come back here, Bass?"

Monroe shifted to face Miles fully. "Where else do I have to go, Miles?" His tears began to fall more freely as he held his head in his hands. "I don't want to live like this anymore."

"Then don't."

Monroe laughed bitterly. "Yeah, because it's really that simple. You know it's just a knee jerk reaction now. Someone dies and I just loose it. You've seen it happen time and time again. It happened after Shelly, after Emma, Duncan. It's like I can't even think. I have to strike back. I don't even see what I've done until it's over."

Miles felt the guilt rise. He swallowed it back down, but it left him feeling nauseous. "I'm sorry, Bass."

"For what? I might have followed you into that mess, but you didn't make me this way."

Miles felt his own eyes sting as he thought about the past. "No, but I should have gotten you help after your family. Maybe you'd have been able to deal with the rest of it better later on if you'd have gotten help dealing with losing them first." Miles had carried his guilt over this for years. Maybe it was time to clear the air once and for all. "But it would have gotten you discharged. I, uh…"

Monroe furrowed his brow as he tried to process what Miles was trying to say. "What did you do?"

"Listen, I knew you had no business going back into combat. But if I had told anyone about what you'd tried to do, they'd have kicked you out. We joined the Marines together. We were a team. I didn't want to do it without you. So Ben and Rachel pulled some strings with some friends they had in the DOD. They were the ones that got us reassigned to Parris Island."

Monroe looked hurt. This happened almost twenty years ago, but he couldn't believe that Miles had told his brother and Rachel about that night, nor could he believe that Miles had gone out of his way to get him sent stateside. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were a mess, Bass. How do you tell your best friend that you think he can't handle his job? But I was wrong. I should have turned you in. You needed to talk to someone, get professional help. You were going to kill yourself for fuck's sake. Maybe if you'd talked to someone back then you'd have been able to handle Shelly better. 'Cause that's when shit really started to head south with you, man."

"Miles?" Rachel's voice drifted through the trees as she called from the general direction of the trailer.

Miles winced when he heard the sound. "Something tells me you'd rather not deal with Rachel right now. I'd better go find out what she wants." Miles hurried off before Rachel decided to come looking for him. The last thing Monroe would want was Rachel creeping in when he was probably as about as vulnerable as he'd seen him since Shelly died. And if he was honest with himself, Miles was not in the mood to have an argument with her over Monroe at the moment besides.

Miles was halfway back to the trailer when he stopped short. _He wouldn't, would he?_ He asked himself silently. Second guessing himself, Miles doubled back. "Give it to me," he said abruptly as soon as he returned to Monroe's camp.

Monroe turned to look at him, confused. "Excuse me?"

Miles held his hand out. "Your gun. Give it to me. Your sword and knife too, while you're at it."

"You want me to sleep out here unprotected? Not a chance, pal." Monroe could just picture Rachel or Gene coming up to him and shooting him in the middle of the night. Not to mention any patriots that may happen to wander their way.

Miles wasn't willing to back down. "Sorry Bass. Not takin' any chances. We've been down this road before. "

Monroe's eyes widened when he finally understood what had crawled up Miles' butt. "Miles, I'm not going to do anything. I promised you –"

Miles cut him off. "I know what you're hiding under that wristband you refuse to take off. Obviously that's a promise you've already tried to break at least once. I'm not backing down."

Monroe looked away guiltily. He hadn't realized he'd been busted. They must have taken it off when Rachel had dug him up after Texas tried to execute him all those months ago. It was the only time Miles could have seen it. Resigned, he stood up and removed his sword belt. He handed this over along with the gun he kept strapped to his waist.

Miles took these and held out his other hand. "The rest of it too."

Sighing, Monroe handed him the knife hidden in his boot as well as another small pistol. "Happy?"

Miles only nodded as he did an about face and headed back. He passed Charlie as he headed inside. "Keep watch on him tonight. He's been disarmed for his own good." She started to walk off. "Don't let him see you if you can help it. Let him keep his fool pride."

Charlie got as close as she could without risking him becoming aware of her. Monroe sat leaning against a stump near the fire, his elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. Charlie hadn't quite understood why Miles had taken Monroe's weapons. Nor did she understand what he'd meant by 'for his own good', but she could tell her uncle was worried about Monroe tonight. She watched from her vantage point as he pulled up his jacket sleeve and began to slowly unwind the cloth he always wore there. Curious, she crept closer as he dropped it in the dirt next to him. He must have sensed her intrusion because he suddenly yanked down the sleeve and looked around as if he was listening. He went back to his brooding but he did not move to rewrap his wrist.

"Are you going to come out or just freeze your ass off all night? If you're stuck babysitting, at least do it by the fire." He eventually called out.

Unable to deny she'd been caught (or the fact that she indeed was freezing) Charlie joined him. She sat with her rifle over her knees as she warmed her numb fingers. "So why'd Miles take all your toys away?"

Monroe shot her an irritated look. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

Charlie just rolled her eyes. "Considering I have to play sentry over you all night because of it, I think that makes it my business." Silence hung over them for several minutes. "Well?"

Sighing, he gave in. "I made a promise to your uncle a long time ago. He seems to think I'll break it tonight."

"And why would he think that?"

Unconsciously, Monroe's hand covered his wrist through the jacket, as if she'd see through it otherwise. "Because he's figured out that I already broke it once, or tried to anyway."

Charlie scooted over closer to him. Reaching out, she picked up the strip of cloth from where it lay next to him. She was fairly sure that she had a good guess about what he'd been hiding all this time. She deliberately turned to face away from him so he could have the privacy he needed to hide this secret once more. "When?"

Monroe pulled his jacket off of the one arm so he could rewrap his wrist and conceal the reminder of his own weakness once more. "The day I found out about the bombs."

"But yet you're still here."  
Finished, Monroe pulled his shirt sleeve back down and shrugged back into his jacket. "The sign of an ultimate fuckup - can't even kill myself right." He felt strange laying it all out in the open so succinctly, but he figured there was little point in trying to deny it with her – all she had to do was ask Miles about it. And, Miles was just a big enough dick that he may very well tell her if she did decided to ply him for answers.

Charlie considered this for a few minutes. It reminded her of the conversation they'd had back in that pool a year ago. He'd acted so remorseful about the destruction of Philly and Atlanta. And she'd mocked him at the time. A part of her felt guilty now. Obviously he'd not been holding back when he'd talked about Philly back then. Knowing how uncomfortable she'd made him, Charlie changed the subject. "You should get some sleep. You look like it's been a while since you've had any."

"Charlie, I probably haven't had a decent night sleep since before you were born," he said with an empty chuckle. Still, he curled up on his bedroll and gave it his best effort. Exhaustion finally took over and he fell asleep with Charlie holding vigil over him. Miles quietly arrived a few hours before dawn to relieve her.

"What do you think about him coming back?" She whispered to miles as she started to rise.

Miles stared at Monroe's sleeping form for just a moment before replying, "I don't know. But just maybe he'll come back from all this." Charlie could see the sorrow in his eyes. "I miss my best friend, Charlie. Maybe I can get him back."

_Two nights later:_

Miles had sent Charlie to Monroe's camp to confirm their plans for the next day. She didn't' know why he'd sent her rather than come himself, but Charlie assumed that it may have had something to do with the talk Miles and Monroe had two nights prior. He was giving Monroe his space. He'd decided that Monroe was not going to do something stupid and had since given his weapons back the following morning.

Monroe's intel on Davis' movements had proven to be accurate. With the help of a few people in town they'd come up with a risky plan. They would kidnap Davis (without hurting the man's family) and would use him to stop the war between Texas and Cali. Truman had long been staying at Marion's place and would consider it safe. Apparently Davis would be brought there as a precaution while the town underwent a security sweep after the train arrived.

The plan was for Charlie, Miles and Gene to lie in wait in the cellar under the bar to wait for the so-called president's arrival. When the time was right, she would let them up. "We'll take out Truman and go out the back with Davis while you cover us from the studio."

"I can't possibly see how this could go wrong," Monroe said with a roll of his eyes. Personally, he thought this plan was insane. Granted, he found this plan far less objectionable than Neville's plan. Tom had wanted to wait and watch and eventually take the girl. He figured they could use her to get Davis away from his security detail. It was by far the "safer" of the two plans. They wouldn't risk gas or any other wmd to attack and Davis just might be lured out completely alone, but in the process the girl could get hurt. Monroe just couldn't bring himself to do it.

Monroe's part in Miles' plan was to plow the road for them, so to speak. The old photo studio Miles had called home for a while was in one of the taller buildings in the area. The studio itself had roof access. From that roof was a perfect view of the back door to Marion's. He was to take out any patriots guarding Marion's and take out anyone that tried to stop them. He was also supposed to make sure there would be no interference by Tom Neville or Connor.

"Okay, so we'll see you afterwards." It had been decided that they'd enter town one at a time to avoid notice. Charlie turned to leave him. His mood was decidedly less morose than it had been two nights prior, but he still seemed pensive all the same. She found it oddly uncomfortable and was eager to put some space between them.

Monroe's movements were quick as he rose to stand between Charlie and the path to her hasty retreat. "We're probably going to die tomorrow, you know that right?"

"Glass half empty, Monroe?" Charlie responded automatically before she could stop herself. The intensity in his eyes suggested he had something he really wanted to get off his chest. She was trying to be less of a bitch to him of late. "But you're not wrong," she added softly.

"Strangely enough, I'm okay with that. But if I'm gonna be dead by this time tomorrow, there's something I want to do first." Monroe took a step towards her as he spoke.

Charlie looked up at him uneasily. "And what's that?"

Monroe quickly grabbed her. "This," was all he said as he pulled Charlie into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers.

_Is this really happening?_ She asked herself as his thumb gently stroked her jaw. She opened herself to him at his touch without even realizing she was doing it. He took the kiss deeper, sweeping is tongue in her mouth to challenge her. Before she knew what she was doing, Charlie began kissing him back. She knew it was stupid but she let him draw her in.

She wrapped herself around Monroe, letting out a whimper as their tongues dueled. Taking this as encouragement, he ran the fingers of one had through her hair as the other arm pulled her tighter against him. She let the kiss go on this way for several more minutes before she slowly broke away.

Knowing not to press his luck, Monroe let her back away. They stood there and stared at each other, neither one bothering to hide how the kiss had affected them. His raw need for her was written plainly all over his face. Charlie forced herself to float back to reality and went to move past him. Before she could stop herself, she turned back around and slapped him as hard as she could. Satisfied, she stomped off.

"It was still worth it," he called after her. He brought his hand up to rub the place where her hand had connected with the side of his face. The girl could pack a wallop when she wanted too.

Charlie turned back around for just a second. She could see the hurt in his eyes. Obviously that wasn't the reaction he'd been hoping for. She continued on her way, silently hoping that he'd felt that one. He'd better have, her hand was stinging from the contact.

_Later that night:_

A few hours later, Charlie gave up on sleep. She made her way silently to his camp. He was stretched out on his bedroll, staring up at the sky. She knew the second he became aware of her, but he didn't move to look at her or speak. Before she could talk herself out of it, she tossed her bedroll down next to his and lay down next to him. He turned on his side to watch her as she tried to get comfortable. Without a word, he pulled her to him and pulled the top blanket of his own bedroll over them both.

She found his mouth, moving her lips gently over his. He allowed her to lead and kept his hands to himself for now. As much as he wanted to take advantage of this situation (and he was sure he could if he wanted to), he would hold back. He accepted this for what it was: an apology and what was likely a final goodbye. He would not let it get out of hand tonight. When things started to heat up, he gently pulled away from her. She watched him with confusion as he shifted to settle her against him.

Charlie laid her head on his chest as he wrapped her arms around him. Understanding, she curled up into his embrace. The change in her breathing a few minutes later told him she'd fallen asleep. Content for now, he kissed her gently on her temple before closing his eyes and allowing himself to drift off. He knew he couldn't truly have her, so he'd settle for this one night before they died.

The next day he played his part well. As Charlie and Miles escaped with Davis, he'd used the sniper rifle as if it was an extension of himself. The guards never had a chance of stopping them. They'd made it back to their rendezvous point with Marion and Gene. But things had never gone according to plan, so why should it start now? Tom and Connor had been lying in wait.

"Son of a bitch," Miles had muttered under his breath as he sent a scathing look Monroe's way. It was obvious to Monroe that Miles assumed he'd gone behind his back.

"You fucking played us? You played me?" Charlie bit out. Her anger did not allow her to see the hurt on his face at the accusations he received.

Tom was insistent on the revenge he so craved and Connor had been convinced that if Davis fell, the patriots wouldn't last much longer. He'd ride back east and take his father's place as the head of the Republic and would rebuild it himself. Tom would be there to make sure he was accepted as Sebastian Monroe's son (although he knew the man would betray him so his plan all along would be to dispose of him as soon as what was left of the militia fully backed him).

Tom raised his gun and a shot rang out. Before anyone could react, Monroe had already made his choice. He dove between Davis and Neville, taking the bullet intended for the bastard that would launch nukes, infect a town and release poison. Miles' plan depended on this man staying alive, and there was no time to come up with a better idea than this.

Monroe grunted in shock with the bullet ripped into his chest, hitting the back of his rib and leaving Davis unscathed. Miles immediately took am and shot Neville down where he stood. Monroe's hand flew to the wound on his chest as he looked up at his son. Monroe saw Connor raise his own weapon and take a step forward. Monroe wasn't sure who his son intended to shoot. Davis, Miles, Charlie. Any could have been the target at this point. Charlie and Miles now both had their weapons trained on Connor while Gene held a gun on Davis. Seeing he was running out of options, Connor hesitated just long enough for Monroe to draw his pistol now.

As they made eye contact, Monroe realized that Connor was going to shoot anyway. He was carrying a Patriot rifle. The automatic weapon insured he'd get more than one shot off before he could be taken down. "I love you, Connor," Monroe called out before he took the shot.

Both Monroes crumpled to the ground at the same time. Charlie and Miles dropped their weapons and knelt by his side. Charlie felt the tears well up in her eyes as she clasped his hand in both of hers. "I'm so sorry that I thought –"

Monroe coughed. The action brought blood to his lips. "It's okay," he rasped.

Seeing the blood, Miles called out. "Gene!"

Gene handed the gun he held to Marion who kept it on Davis with shaking hands. The last thing they needed was him running off in the confusion. Miles stood to allow Gene room to work, dragging a hand through his hair as he felt the panic rise in his chest. The blood that came when Monroe coughed was a bad sign.

Gene unzipped Monroe's jacket and lifted his shirt to examine the wound. The grim look on his face confirmed what everyone knew. There was nothing he could do. Monroe waved the doctor off. Gene slowly rose to allow Miles room by his side to say goodbye. "Go save the world now, brother," Monroe gasped as he spoke. The bullet had hit his lung and it had collapsed. He struggled to breathe as the other lung tried to compensate.

"You did good, Bass." Ever the soldier, Miles tried to keep his own tears in check but was failing miserably.

"Tell Rachel I'm sorry. And tell her I said she'd better take care of you. If she doesn't I swear I'll come back and haunt her ass."

Miles laughed at this. Only Bass would threaten to pester her from the grave. He was too choked up to talk now, so he just nodded his assent. Monroe turned his head to Charlie now. He reached up and caressed her cheek. "It was still totally worth it," he whispered.

Charlie's tears fell freely as she bent down and kissed him, ignoring the taste of copper from the blood on his lips. "Yeah, it was," she replied. If Miles found the intimacy of the moment alarming, he at least had the good taste to not say anything now. Monroe laid his head in her lap and stared at the clouds that passed over them. "Huh… It doesn't even hurt now," he mused. He sounded surprised and almost euphoric. Miles and Charlie stayed by his side as he bled out over the next few minutes. He closed his eyes and took a few more gasping breaths before he stilled.

Rachel and Aaron arrived a few minutes later with the Priscillabot in tow. The nanites had been holding them hostage in a house outside of town when suddenly they insisted on Rachel and Aaron coming here. Apparently these recent events piqued the nanites' interest. Rachel took in the scene, confused. Gene told her what had happened but she couldn't wrap her mind around it. Monroe had saved Davis?

_The Aftermath_

Kidnapping Davis had turned out to be the right move. For one, the information they'd been able to wring out of him was invaluable. Monroe hadn't been the only one that could get people to talk, and Miles had little motivation to be nice to the man. They'd used him to get the Patriots to back out of Willoughby. And, miraculously they'd been able to get Texas and Cali to back down and later to join forces. Carver had Davis arrested. Of course Secretary Allenford had stepped up to take command of the Patriots, but he didn't prove to be as ruthless as his predecessor.

With Texas and California teamed up, the Patriots didn't stand a chance. They chased them out of their own nations before marching into the plains and what used to make up the Monroe Republic and Georgia. The information Miles had given Carver about the training camps was used to their advantage. Focusing on these, the Patriots soon had their legs cut out under them. The reprogramming centers were vital to keeping up support. There was, however an endless supply of people willing to volunteer to fight against these invaders from Cuba, especially when it became well known that the Patriots had been behind the blackout in the first place.

Texas slowly brought order to the east and with the decimation of the warclans, California was able to absorb the plains. This built some tension between the two remaining nations, but after Governor Affleck had given in to her depression over the loss of her husband and taken her own life a new leader rose to power. A treaty between California and Texas had been reached and there was at least a promise for peace.

The events that afternoon at the rendezvous point had intrigued the nanites. While they'd never appeared to Monroe, they had dipped into his head more than once. That he would go against everything they'd seen in him for the greater good was fascinating to them. Rachel and Aaron were able to convince them that there may be hope for humanity after all. If someone like Monroe could do the right thing, how could the nanites say that people couldn't save themselves? They backed down, although they would always be a threat. More importantly, they would never release the control they had over the power. Electricity would for now remain a memory and nothing more.

Two days after Monroe had taken that bullet for Davis, Marion 'had convinced their fledgling underground to help Charlie and Miles bury him. Under the cover of darkness and with a little help distracting the Patriots they'd managed to bury Monroe and Connor side by side in the main cemetery in town. The town's only remaining pastor had even performed a very quiet and rushed service. Marion had made it very clear that the hope they town now clung to survived because of what Monroe had done to keep Davis alive. Only Miles and Charlie watched as Monroe was laid to rest. Gene and Rachel had been keeping a watch on Davis, and probably wouldn't have come even if they hadn't been otherwise occupied. Neville, on the other hand was simply left to rot in the wilderness. Miles would be damned if he gave the man a decent burial.

Six months had now passed since that night. The Matheson family now stood in the cemetery along with Aaron and Priscilla (the real one). Two men from town helped to set two markers in place. The one they started with was simple. They hadn't known what else to write.

_Connor Bennett (Monroe)_

_2003 - 2029_

Charlie smiled as her hand rested on her now protruding belly. As she watched them finish with Connor's marker and move on to Monroe's, she thought back on that last night. She'd woken first just a bit before dawn. As she'd watched him sleep, she'd made a decision. She'd woken him in the most pleasant way she could think. Had Miles gotten there just a few minutes sooner, he'd have caught them scrambling to get dressed. She had to suppress a giggle when she thought back on the look on Miles' face when he'd seen that she'd passed the night in Monroe's camp to begin with. What would it have been if he'd have known the truth of what they'd done just minutes before he'd arrived?

Rachel put her arm around Charlie as they stood in silence for several minutes after the stone was left to stand. To say that she'd been shocked when Charlie announced her condition and who had helped her get that way would be an understatement. But as the world around them started to settle down, she'd accepted it. In the end, this was exactly what she'd wanted: A better world for her daughter where they had a future. She'd fought hard for her daughter to have that future. Monroe had only added to it by giving Charlie a catalyst to change back into someone that could settle down and look forward to peace. And, her impending grandchild had forced Rachel to reevaluate herself as well and finally let go of the hate for Monroe and truly forgive him.

Charlie took one last look Monroe's headstone before they left the cemetery together.

_Sgt. Sebastian Monroe_

_USMC_

_1982 – 2029_

_Lost, Found, Forgiven_

_Semper Fi, Brother_

**MORE A/N: Yeah, I went there. Sorry, but I think that there is a lot of redemption in death, especially when someone dies finally doing the right thing. I'm sure it could be argued that I went very OC with Bass in this. I tried to draw on the few flashbacks of his past and go from there. Like he was making an abrupt transition to see that person for the first time in years. **

**I decided that since the flashbacks from the execution episode showed Miles trying to convince Bass to go on the attack and Bass seemed kind of annoyed and disgusted about it that I'd give them a chance to role reverse in a way. Because I could picture the same things that Bass has been saying about Rachel coming out of Miles' mouth at some point if Shelly was the reason Bass hadn't wanted to go through with the raid.**

**Also, it has driven me nuts all season that Bass always wears that ratty ass wristband. Some people and fics seem to assume that he is hiding his tattoo under it, but if you notice in episode 2x1, the scar from that is above the wristband. I remembered thinking right then "hey, what's up with that". And being the details gal that I am, I noticed that even when he was naked in the bed after Rachel dug him up, he still had it on. So I decided he was hiding something under it. Why else wear it all the time (you'd think it would be itchy, sweaty and stinky after wearing it nonstop. It would drive me nuts to have something like that always around my wrist). Since we know Monroe's history with attempting suicide, it only made since to me that he'd try to hide any evidence of a repeat, right? **

**So anyway, please let me know what you think… It would be awesome. Too angsty? (sorry, I admit I love writing intense and angsty stuff. I'm no good at fluff). Thanks for anyone that bothered to read **


End file.
